


is there anybody out there?

by verynearlysouffled



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Post-Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children, but the fluff is encased within the angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27816052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verynearlysouffled/pseuds/verynearlysouffled
Summary: There were no vortex bearings to be fixed here or careful hands to braid her hair or warm cups of tea to drink. Her stomach was empty but nauseous, and the red jumpsuit rough against her skin. She lay on her side, curled into herself with her legs pressed to her front and the thin red blanket she’d been given in use as a pillow. The stone was cold and unrelenting beneath her, but unlike when she’d drop off on the metal floor of the TARDIS, there was no quiet hum, no psychic link to her oldest, most constant companion that would lull her down to sleep. Her heartbeats were echoing and her breaths were thunderous.-The Doctor's thoughts on her first night in prison.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor & Yasmin Khan & Graham O'Brien & Ryan Sinclair
Comments: 12
Kudos: 27





	is there anybody out there?

**Author's Note:**

> yeah so this is entirely inspired by that new picture featuring the fucking concrete slab the poor alien has been sleeping on in prison. i mean i had some of this already written, but i repurposed it bc what i’d written was very all over the place and i'd been looking for a fic it would fit into for awhile now. but anyway, is there no prisoner rights in this section of space?? just give her a mattress and pillow you cheap bastards.
> 
> title from pink floyd's 'is there anybody out there?'

For better or worse, the Doctor had never been a great sleeper. Nightmares and darkness had plagued her attempts at sleep since childhood, but it had only grown worse over the years as each nightmare became truer and truer. When she thought she’d destroyed Gallifrey, when she’d lost every one of the people that mattered to her, when she’d watched the burnt orange landscape that had long ago been her home, the smell of ash still thick in the air and clinging to her skin. And now, as every bit of her existence unravelled from the inside out.

Back on the TARDIS she would normally find a distraction. _Can’t go to sleep if it isn’t night time_ , she’d argue, taking the TARDIS to faraway worlds and places, and acting as if no time had passed. The TARDIS wasn’t always complicit in this, and sometimes would refuse to take off, leaving the Doctor with nothing more to do than whatever she could distract herself with around the TARDIS. This brought her to repairs and improvements, anything physical and hands-on. She’d tried books and games, but they’d never work as well as a mechanical problem that needed her full attention and innovation. The TARDIS never approved, and sometimes would even lock doors and move hallways to try and trick the Doctor to settling down and sleeping. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes the Doctor was so stubborn that she’d sit on the spot, bored as anything, but avoiding the drag of sleep pulling her backwards. Anything was better than what followed when her eyes shut.

With her friends on board, she’d always hide herself away, deep within the TARDIS’ engines. A broken flux capacitor, a malfunctioning fluid link, there was always _something_ she could justify occupying her night times with when they asked. Although she hid, somehow she always found that she preferred it when her friends were on board. Not the secrets and lying, she always wished she could just _stop lying_ , but when her friends were there, the nights passed so much quicker.

Graham was an early-bird, and happily went to bed before any of the others. She rarely needed to justify her nighttime activities to him, except for when he’d wake up particularly early, or even in the middle of the night. In these times, he’d track her down and find her still working away. Then he’d sit beside her, a cup of tea in hand (and another cup of tea dropped off next to her, which she would always appreciate). Sometimes he’d ask questions, about her life or her interests or what she was doing. Sometimes she’d answer, when they were casual and easy questions, and those times were nice. Friendly. But then they weren’t nice, friendly, easy questions, and he’d give her that look. So disapproving, worried, even confused. The Doctor would feel bad about it, but that meant confronting the answers to the questions she avoided, so nothing changed.

Then there was Yaz. Yaz was also very good at the disapproving, worried, confused faces. She’d stay up longer before going to bed, trying to convince the Doctor to do something else. She’d sit in that same spot as Graham and just keep her company. This, the Doctor appreciated. Sometimes she got the impression that maybe, just like her, Yaz didn’t like talking about things. The Doctor respected this, stayed quiet, and allowed their conversation to drift into mutually safe spaces. This often looked like discussions around the Doctor’s past travels (safe and happy adventures), and like Yaz’s home life when she wasn’t on board the TARDIS (also kept safe and happy, with carefree complaints about her job and anecdotes about the good times with her family). Sometimes, Yaz would even braid her hair. The Doctor really liked those times. If she’d known she’d been missing out on braids all this time, maybe she’d have tried to present female earlier, or at least grown her hair out longer.

And then there was Ryan, last but certainly not least. He was more of a night owl, and if he wasn’t using the future technology on the TARDIS to play video games, would sometimes find himself sitting beside the Doctor asking questions about how the TARDIS worked. It was easier to convince him that this was just an ‘alien thing’, and that she didn’t sleep, so he didn’t give as many worried looks. Or maybe he was just better at hiding his judgement. Or maybe he understood her more than the others, at least where this particular issue stood. In any case, she liked it.

They both liked mechanical work, so it was easy to fall into conversations about the TARDIS and cars alike. With Ryan’s understanding of the basic principles behind mechanics, it was so much easier than with the others to go beyond the simple technology of the Earth they knew, and to show him the wonderful things of the future that never really came up on their trips, things that Ryan would maybe never see in his lifetime. Other than about the TARDIS and other easy topics, he wouldn’t ask questions. He was happy to sit with her and learn, and she really enjoyed that. He was her favourite visitor on the very long nights, and funnily, she always felt more at rest afterwards, even though she didn’t sleep.

There were only a few times she’d found herself without words, frozen to the spot as Ryan spoke. That had been six months after she’d first met them. He’d been telling her a funny anecdote about the time his grandmother had seen a rude customer yelling at the sixteen-year old behind the counter at the local grocery store, and had stepped in, yelling right back until finally the customer left with his tail between his legs. And suddenly, Ryan admitted that, “The nights are the hardest.”

The Doctor had stayed quiet, sure that Ryan wasn’t finished speaking, and unsure what she wanted to say, if anything, just yet anyway.

“When it’s quiet at night it’s just too easy to remember that she’s gone. So I’m glad you’re around for a chat, Doctor. All this, the TARDIS, the mechanics. It’s nice.”

The Doctor smiled, soft, careful. “Yeah, it is,” she said, passing him a wrench so he could continue his work on the vortex bearings.

There were no vortex bearings to be fixed here or careful hands to braid her hair or warm cups of tea to drink. Her stomach was empty and nauseous, and the red jumpsuit rough against her skin. She lay on her side, curled into herself with her legs pressed to her front and the thin red blanket she’d been given now in use as a pillow. The stone was cold and unrelenting beneath her, but unlike when she’d drop off on the metal floor of the TARDIS, there was no quiet hum, no psychic link to her oldest, most constant companion that would lull her down to sleep. Her heartbeats were echoing and her breaths were thunderous.

Her eyes were pressed shut, even though she had no intention of letting the nightmares in. She couldn’t bear the walls anymore, dark and grey and empty, squeezing her closer and closer until her breath quickened and her eyes were wet.

No, this was better.

_forty-six thousand, seven hundred and ninety-seven._

_forty-six thousand, seven hundred and ninety-eight._

_forty-six thousand, seven hundred and ninety-nine._

_forty-six thousand, eight hundred._

_forty-six thousand, eight hundred and one._

“Hey, Doctor, do the new thermo couplings go back in here?” Ryan asked, eyes concentrating as he held them up.

“Only if you want to blow up the TARDIS,” she said, instead pointing out the actual spot they needed to be refitted.

“Oh, right,” he said.

“Would it actually blow up the TARDIS?” Yaz asked from in front of her, and the Doctor hummed, pulling Yaz’s hair through the band.

“Maybe,” she said eventually, surveying her work. “Is this right?”

Yaz felt the messy braid, laughing. “It’ll do. Chuck us a biscuit, will you?”

The Doctor obliged, passing the packet over to Yaz, who also held it out for Ryan to grab one.

“Alright, four cups of hot chocolate!”

“Thanks, Gramps.”

“Ta, Graham.”

“Thanks, Graham,” the Doctor said, accepting her own mug and smiling at him. “What’s the verdict?”

“Well, I’ve decided on the 1964 FA Cup Final.”

“Oh, no!” Yaz said first, groaning as she laughed.

“Come on, Gramps. All of space and time and you pick an old footy match?” Ryan said.

“Now, I did say that Graham got to pick the next trip, so we will go to his old boring footy match and then we can do something fun,” the Doctor said.

“Oi,” Graham said, brow furrowing as he tried not to laugh and encourage them. “It’s my birthday, my pick, no complaints, alright?”

“Absolutely,” the Doctor said, hands raised in surrender. “We won’t complain anymore, will we, guys?”

Ryan rolled his eyes. “Okay.”

“Promise,” Yaz said. “Doctor, you won’t be upset if I undo this braid, right? Only it’s starting to pull-”

The Doctor was ripped from the daydream at a loud clang from outside, the sound of metal expanding in heat. Nothing out of the ordinary, just what must occur when the prison orbited closer to its sun, judging by the bright light beaming directly through the window and straight on her.

_forty-six thousand, nine hundred and thirty-three._

She sighed, rolling on to her back and pulling her hair away from her face and craning her neck to look out the small window, blinking at the bright light.

She could do this. And like a mantra she told herself:

_Stay strong. People waiting for you._

**Author's Note:**

> i had a rubbish day at work so sometimes you just need some lovely doctor & fam stuff to make you happy again <3 kudos and comments always appreciated! you can find me on tumblr at 'cordeychase'.


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